Interview 1 – Christine Boone

I was nervous as I made my way to the office of a woman who’d twisted her ankle outside Lamoureux, one of the buildings on the east end of the campus. Following her accident report, it was determined she’d slipped on a cracked chunk of pavement. A section of the sidewalk was subsequently demolished and re-paved to prevent a similar incident from happening in the future. If nothing else, the Office of Risk Management was efficient at enforcing changes, though it was less about ensuring the safety of students and employees, and more about preventing lawsuits.

Mrs. Boone’s office smelled like potpourri left out in the sun for too long. Paintings of flowers adorned the walls and a faux stain-glass ornament hung from the window, creaking with each rotation. I had trouble keeping my eyes off the hypnotic mix of colors it projected on the walls.

“So you’re here about my accident?” she asked suddenly.

I took a seat on a patchy guest chair, and nodded, “Yes. Umm…can you tell me what happened?” I asked.

Talking to people was never really my strong suit. I wasn’t sure where to start or what to ask her. Thankfully, she started telling her story while I followed along with her report.

“I was carrying a box of supplies to the Arts department. I got distracted by something and my heel caught a crack. Before I knew what happened, my ankle snapped, and I fell,” she explained.

I cringed, “Sounds painful.”

“It was,” she replied.

“Do you normally take that route?” I enquired.

“Yeah…but I’m usually careful when I walk around campus. The sidewalks are in awful shape, so I have to watch my step. You’re lucky, you know. Navigating this old campus is pretty tough in high heels,” she answered, motioning to her stilettos.

I glanced at her report, unsure whether or not to bring up the man in red, “You said you were distracted that day. What distracted you?” I pressed.

“Ugh, just some weird guy,” she said.

“Weird guy?”

Mrs. Boone nodded, “Just a…a really weird guy. He gave me the creeps. He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk 10…maybe 15 meters ahead of me? He was staring right at me. It made me really uneasy. I was trying to side-step him when I felt some kind of pull on my ankle. I twisted it and fell. He saw the whole thing happen, and never lifted a hand to help me. What an asshole.”

My lips twisted in a frown, “Wow,” I murmured sympathetically.

She leaned back against her chair and glanced at the ceiling, “Weird thing is, he just kind of…disappeared. I mean, at that point I was tending to my foot, but I swear, one second he was there, the next, he was gone.”

That sounded strange. I flipped through her questionnaire, and pointed to the entry about the man in red, “Was it the guy you described here?” I asked.

She reached for a pair of reading glasses, took a look at the paper, and nodded, “Yeah! He saw the whole thing, but like I said, he must have run off or something. Maybe I’m just not giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he ran to get help, I don’t know.”

“Have you seen him since?” I asked.

She shook her head, “No, but if I ever do, I’m sure I’d recognize him. Something about that dark look in his eyes…I’ll never forget it.”

That was all I needed to hear, but I asked her a few follow-up questions to make my interview seem a little more legitimate. I didn’t want her running back to my boss asking questions. Once that was done, I ended the interview.